


walking the line of black and white

by demoncat22



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Bottom John, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Mike is a pimp, Prostitute John, Teen John Watson, i guess but it's his job, slutty John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:28:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demoncat22/pseuds/demoncat22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike was 41 years old. John was 17.</p><p>Mike tried to keep his distance, tried not to think <em>that way<em></em></em>, because he wanted to be a good man, but John was beautiful and willing and demanded to be his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	walking the line of black and white

Mike wasn't a good man.

He tried very hard to be, he tried very hard not to notice. He went to church every Sunday, as if that would somehow wash him clean. He listened to the priests, to their droning words and patient lessons, hoping he would find a way to learn, to be one of the men and women sitting by him, eyes closed, at peace and fingers entwined as they murmured their faith in the Lord.

He tried so hard not to notice.

But a job like his, a handler- no, a  _pimp,_  how could he not?

He was no better than the rest of his 'colleagues', who groped and leered at the pretty young men and women desperate enough to sell themselves for money, who grabbed at the prostitutes - because why not call them as they were - and handled them roughly. He was worse, because he'd rather pretend he wasn't, even when he found his eyes straying, found his trousers tightening and his throat clogging.

He tried to comfort himself, telling himself that he only wanted the one.

The name itself meant  _God_ _is_ _gracious,_  andGod must have been when creating him, for the boy behind the name was as alluring as the mermaids in folklore, drawing in unsuspecting men into the depths of the ocean. The very thought of the young man under his care had warmth blooming in his chest, a swirl of affection he couldn't afford to have, espcially not for a rent boy almost half his age.

But John. John.

John with his shy smile, lighting up his entire face when one of the older prostitutes ruffled his hair and brought him sweets, smaller than the rest of them and already a favourite in the first week he started working here. Body bruised in so many places, ripped shorts that showed off the curve of his bum and barely covered it at all. So desperate for any scrap of attention, eager for warm regard instead of gruelling punishment.

And John had started gravitating towards him, his gentle assurances and his kind face, friendly eyes behind his round glasses, fingers clasped around the cuff of his sleeves when he guided him around, a hand on his back. The first weeks, John would appear uncertain at his office door, smelling of cigarette smoke and sweat, and red marks tender on his skin.

And Mike  _knew_  when he started  _thinking_ _about_ _him._  When he itched to see every inch of John's small, lithe body, to have John straddling him like he did to the men who asked for him. He knew when his cheeks warmed seeing John fidgit in his seat, bottom sore from a previous client.

And John knew too.

 

When slender hands roamed his soft belly, when guileless blue eyes lined with heavy kohl watched him hopefully for approval, he could do nothing but swallow the lump in his dry throat and nod.

Deft fingers opened his fly, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from John between his legs, because John had no one else, because this was the only way John knew how to say thank you, to keep him from leaving, to say  _stay, always,_  and he should assure that he would never leave John, not ever, not for all the money in the world, not for his wife, but he didn't.

He didn't say anything, and only watched as John's eyes lit up at the sight of his cock, already hard, creating a tent against his boxers.

He pulled them to his knees hurriedly, heart skipping when John, settling himself on the matress, swirled his fingers into an old bottle of lube, slicking them up with a fair amount before reaching down to push them into his own arsehole, the first breach making him throw his head back in a soft moan, body arching off the bed.

He swallowed reflexively at the sight, pupils dilating hungrily to meet John's darkened gaze.

He leaned against the headboard, breath coming out short, watching John stretch himself with quiet whines and soft grunts, cheeks reddened with a pale flush as he pulled his fingers away, crawling towards him and grasping him by the collar gently. His thin lips brushed chaste kisses along his neck, trailing up his jaw, sitting up by his knees, only just taller than him.

"Mike," John breathed, head tilted to expose the delicate arch of his neck, swaying his hips, rubbing his stretched hole over the fat head of his cock.

He groaned softly, eyes closing even as the image was forever seared into his mind, John's bared shoulder within easy reach of his tongue, so close he could press his lips against the childhood scar that marred John's body. The dangerous thought that  _this_  was his, that John wanted him as much as he did John. His cock throbbed to be buried in John, his hips canting up, but John only hummed amusedly against his skin, only allowing the tip of his cock to dip shallowly into his arse.

"John," he gasped wetly into John's ear, his hands coming up to stroke along the young blond's bare back, the line of his spine, firm and demanding.

It was enough encouragement for John to slowly impale himself on his cock, his entire body shuddering with want, a long moan against his neck that only tapered off when he was seated on his lap, shoulders loosening.

He panted heavily against John's neck, hips bucking weakly as John started fucking himself on his cock, wet, warm hole pulling him in even as John pulled out.

"Mike, oh Mike," John panted sweetly into his ear, pulling back to bounce properly on his cock, experience teaching him when to clench down, how to twist his body, blue eyes glimmering in dim light and half closed in pleasure, sweat gleaming along every line of his slender body.

“You’re a good boy, John,” he moaned, couldn't help himself from reaching out, hands splayed on John's hips in a possessive hold that just felt right, squeezing with each clench around his cock. They fit together so well it was as if John was made for this, for him, born just so they could find each other, and in the small space of the spare room they had found themselves in, he could think of no one else he would rather live with but John.

"Good, good boy, John,  _John_ ," he chanted, listening to the obscene slapping of flesh against flesh, to John's breathy, gasping voice calling his name, and that was all it took for him to come into John with a dizzying rush, his cock pulsing in the younger boy's heat.

John's resulting moan was almost a sob, cum dripping between his thighs, bouncing desperately on his softening cock, unable to reach climax.

His hands faltered listening to John's whines, but simulation to his over-sensitive cock had him hissing softly, reaching up to press against John's head to still him.

John made a sad noise, his legs wavering, his balls angry and red against his jutting cock, blue irises wide and shining with want.

 _"Please,_ _Mike,"_ he whined.

He brushed his fingers through John's hair, dripping with sweat, but pressed even more insistently.

John made an even sadder noise, almost a whine, and reluctantly pulled away, just to be a good boy, just for approval, sitting up on his knees again to let his limp cock slip out of his hole, red and well fucked.

"Come here." he said in a quiet sigh, and John shifted closer with a hopeful expression, pre-cum gleaming from his cock.

He wrapped his fingers around John's cock, his other hand coming up to curl encouragingly around John's waist in a comforting hold, and John moaned happily, content to fall into him, a shiver shaking his body as he nuzzled into his neck. He slid his hands from the tip of John's cock to the root, squeezing ever so slightly to milk gorgeous, breathless noises from the blond in his arms.

“ _Mike,”_ John moaned wantonly, “Oh please-! _Mike_ ,” with a shuddering breath and his name on his lips, John came all over his hand, spilling cum over his fingers and belly in long stripes.

Catching his breath for a brief moment, John allowed him to take his weight, head resting on his shoulder, letting him squeeze him tenderly by the waist as he curled into himself. Breathing in tandem in the flickering light of the lamp, John seemed to count quietly under his breath before he drew back sluggishly.

With a shy smile and warm trust in his eyes, John reached forward, only needing to lift his hand for him to understand. Wordlessly, he allowed John to encircle his hand with careful fingers, and a pink tongue flitted out to lap up the cum on his skin.

That damned fondness welled up in him again when John looked up at him with a bright smile, white making his lips gleam, and he really couldn’t have kept himself from running a hand through strands of blond.

“I love you, Mike.” John whispered, leaning into his touch.

His breath stolen from him, he stared at the 17 year old boy sitting on his lap, far too young for a life like this, far too young to know whether or not he really loved anyone. His mouth opened even as sudden guilt closed his throat. “Love you too, John.” He murmured back, for watching John's eyes light up was worth anything he may be feeling at the moment.

 


End file.
